


That Boy is Mine

by aidennestorm



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alex is 13, Consent Issues, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Underage, Incest, Lingerie, M/M, Parent/Child Incest, Spanking, Sure it’s fucked up and they also love and want each other deeply, Unapologetic incestuous underage fluff and sex and affection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 23:20:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17476862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aidennestorm/pseuds/aidennestorm
Summary: George loves Alex. Alex loves George. Together, they negotiate their own understanding.





	That Boy is Mine

**Author's Note:**

> Last chance to turn back-- for all our sakes, if you haven't read the tags yet, please do so and please heed them.

They develop a system, of sorts.

They have to. There is no precedent for what they’re doing— not that George is aware of, anyway. Nothing but titillating network television specials, tense courtrooms and community vigilante groups, trauma and pain and anguish.

That’s not what they are. Who they are. George would _die_ before he hurt his son, and Alex—

Alex is mercurial, has been from the moment he first opened his eyes. He’s bratty and brilliant, curious and innovative, moody and affectionate. He _never stops thinking,_ and it’s how George knows that Alex would _tell him._ That as much as Alex trusts him to love him, cherish him, he can trust in Alex’s honesty.

So it’s never an official _thing_ that they discuss— Alex simply behaves a certain way, George notices and reacts accordingly, and remembers his son’s responses. It’s unorthodox, but it’s _theirs._

It’s Alex slouched on the couch in athletic shorts and a tank top, arms crossed over his chest. Petulant and prickly and ignoring every question, every stern word his father has for him. Those are the nights Alex requires a firmer touch; George pulls him across his lap, yanks his shorts down to bare his ass, and lands a resounding smack. Alex huffs and whines and earns a heavy hand on his back to hold him still, strike after strike until his skin is bright red and every attempt to squirm away forces his cock to rub against his father’s solid form. There are tears in his eyes, overwrought and overwhelmed, by the time he comes with a strangled moan.

It’s Alex smirking in one of George’s gray dress shirts, huge on his lanky frame. Playful and teasing, squealing as his father grabs him, reeling him in and kissing his bare shoulder beneath the slide of fabric. George gropes underneath to find Alex hard and wearing nothing else, groans as he arranges Alex in his arms. Once they’re pressed chest to back, George strokes him slowly, teasingly, drawing out the delicious torment until Alex gasps desperately, _“Dad!”_. It’s only then that George gives his son mercy, moving his hand in the way he knows, with the pleasure of experience, will drive Alex to release all over his shirt. While Alex sleeps in their bed he throws it in a load of laundry. Puts it on the next morning and wears it to work, an invisible, indelible imprint of his son.

It’s Alex shyly climbing into bed with him, wearing the delicate baby pink lingerie George picked out for him and set out on the dresser that morning like a silent offering. When he came home from the office and checked their bedroom, Alex already sitting at the kitchen table doing homework, it was gone, and George knew it meant that Alex had accepted it, _wanted_ it as much as he did. Alex is soft and sweet and pliant, breathing, “Daddy, _please—”_ as George sucks on his nipples through the sheer silk, makes them pebbled and sensitive. Alex shivers and George’s throat goes dry, longing, as he looks at his son’s cock, straining his panties already damp with precome. George mouths him until Alex whimpers and makes a mess of himself, then George tears away the panties and licks him clean.

It’s Alex without trappings. Alex vulnerable, unable to hide, every thought and feeling flashing bright on his face. The same look, the same son George held years ago as an infant in his arms. Falling headlong into his orbit was inescapable, even though he could never have imagined _this:_ Alex on his back, legs spread wide and inviting, dark waves splayed out on the pillow around him, all smooth skin and light dustings of hair. He’s beautiful, a gift, and it makes George _ache;_ the feeling of stretching him open with his slick fingers, filling him with his cock, is as breathtaking as the first time. Alex cries out in shattered pleasure, nails digging into George’s back when he spills between them.

And their constant, no matter Alex’s mood— George tucks his son in close, protective and soothing, and brushes a kiss against his forehead, then to his lips. Alex snuggles into his bare chest and smiles sleepily. “Love you, Daddy.”  
  
“I love you too, sweetheart,” George murmurs, _always,_ and kisses him again.

**Author's Note:**

> All my dedication and thanks to those-- you know who you are-- who in some way inspired/encouraged me in this delicious sin. And if you're here for the sin, too-- welcome, kindred spirit. :)
> 
> (On dreamwidth @aidennestorm, and check out the @whamilton community, too!)


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